Times change
by planet p
Summary: AU; it takes a cold person to steal a child from everything warm they’ve ever known.


**Note: I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.**

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_1964_

The sixties are strange times in America, that much Fenigor has to agree on. Jacob, the man he is working with, likes to talk a lot; he talks about how everything is strange, changing; he talks about the people's acceptance of the changes, and other people's ignorance; some people would rather pretend nothing was happening at all. He talks about the war that has been raging for five years; he talks about a lot of things.

Fenigor supposes he wouldn't be able to shut him up if he tried, this man likes to talk, he's just that sort of person. Unlike Jacob, he doesn't like to talk, and when he does, he certainly doesn't like to go on.

Jacob tells him about his twin; he's a twin, his twin's name is Sydney. Sydney always listens patiently when he talks, yet he knows he must sometimes grow tiresome of it. Is he a sibling? he asks. Does he have a family?

No, to both counts: Fenigor's reply is brisk. He's not a brother, he's not a father. He's just a man, a man who does a job; his job.

It's cold outside, and the world is strange, but inside it feels warm. It feels safe. Fenigor has been told that this warm place is actually a facility, not a home; more of a collection point, or a training place, an academy. He doesn't question what he is told, that's not a part of his job; he likes to do his job and he likes to keep questions out of it; at the end of the day, what he doesn't know won't hurt him; he doesn't take his baggage from work home, it stays at work, tucked away in his office, waiting for him to return the next day.

Jacob has stopped talking; Fenigor thanks his lucky stars for the silence: they'll have to be very careful now, very stealthy.

The corridors are bright and empty: Fenigor feels his skin crawl; beside him, Jacob walks as though he's used to this, as though he doesn't feel what the other man does; he's as at home in this place as if it was his home.

_That's the way to tackle it_, Fenigor thinks. Where he works, for the people he works for, heartlessness is your best asset. For all of his questions, all of his talk and character building, this man isn't who he says he is, who he's convinced himself he is: he's not the person he thinks he is; Fenigor isn't even sure he is a person, not a normal person, in any case.

Fenigor knows, as Jacob must, that they are here to steal a child: a person who can do that without breaking stride or thought is a very sad person indeed; cold. If this man ever was a person, he thinks, then he is no longer.

They come to a room in which children are sleeping; a lot of children. They begin to walk around, looking at each sleeping child; assessing their value with glances impeded by the dimness of the room.

Fenigor looks up from one sleeping child to see Jacob standing at the end of the room, staring at the door. He looks to the door, too. There is nothing there, but he feels panic building in him, suddenly. Is there someone waiting outside for them?

Jacob walks to the door; Fenigor walks with him, keeping carefully behind him. Outside, in the corridor, they are alone; or so he thinks.

At first, Fenigor doesn't see the small child because Jacob is standing in the way. "They're not well, they've got to be mended. They're broken," a small voice speaks out of the blue, startling Fenigor, and then, stepping sharply to the side, he sets eyes on the child.

He can't be more than three or four; he's holding out his hand. "You're not allowed in here," the boy says, then, "I'll show you out."

Jacob takes the boy's hand.

Fenigor feels his heart drop; he knows this is the child they're going to take. The child, it seems, is the only one who doesn't know. Finally, his heart reaches the bottom of its long drop into the dark recesses and he feels it break apart.

"I'm Jacob," Jacob tells the boy. He doesn't lie; Fenigor feels as though he's going to be sick all over the bright corridor floor; purge the remains of his broken apart heart from his body forever. _The poor little fellow_, he thinks.

"What's your name?" Jacob asks calmly, with only a hint of interest.

"Timothy," the boy replies. "Friends call me Timmy."

He has no idea what he's getting himself into. None at all.


End file.
